


One Night

by yeaka



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Age Difference, Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-24
Updated: 2013-11-24
Packaged: 2018-01-02 12:14:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1056650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dennis sneaks out to meet a teacher.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Night

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Holiday ‘drabble’ for anon [on tumblr](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/post/66814629392/musing). 
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Harry Potter or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

He’s aware, of course, as he leaves the grand doors and steps out onto the pavement, that this is completely and utterly _not okay._ It’s somewhere right between terribly wrong and sinfully horrible. He could probably be expelled.

Or worse, he could get Professor Weasley fired, and that’s the main reason he was so quiet slipping through the portrait. He crept the halls with less noise than a mouse, dodging waking paintings and, for once, glad he’s so small. He’s short enough and thin enough to miss the general line of sight, to duck under chatterbox pictures and slip through barely ajar doors. The entranceway was terrifying to open; the great wooden doors creaked and groaned as though aware of his mischief.

He shuts them behind himself with a growing sense of trepidation, sure that at any minute he’ll be caught. 

He isn’t. 

He hurries down the path winding out of the castle, down through the grass, his shoes clicking too loudly on the pavement. It’s a cold autumn night; his breath’s in a thick fog in front of him. He should wait until the spring, when maybe he’ll be old enough. Instead, he’s a student, impatient and bristling for adventure. He knows what he wants—is so _sure_ of it—and if that subject wants him back, what’s the matter?

The grass is too crisp; it makes noise as he flattens it. His robes are billowing too much around him, blown about by his brisk pace, his scarf tight around his neck. He’s got his hands shoved in his pockets, and they’re trembling from more than just the cold. 

Dennis still wonders if he’ll get away with this. 

The hut’s in the distance. 

He said he wanted it. He saw how his professor looked at him, he took the little extra praise during lessons, the lingering touch when handed equipment, the sort of bonus help other students don’t get. He’s had the extra lessons, and he’s listened to the careful words, picked them apart in his head at night. He said he wanted this, that he was ready. Is ready. He got an unmarked letter from a Hogwarts owl saying just ‘tonight,’ and Dennis, hot-blooded and itching to _experience_ , hopped right out of bed. 

He’s running faster as he gets closer. He’s a little scared, mostly that he won’t know what to do, that he’ll have misread, that he won’t be good enough. Maybe a little because Professor Weasley is so handsome, broad shouldered and muscled and full of stories of dragon training in Romania. Half his students have a crush on him. 

And here little Dennis Creevey is, running up the way and lightheaded at the thought that he’s the one that pushes through. 

He hurries up the rickety steps in a sort of stupor, pausing at the door and breathing too heavily to knock. Or maybe he’s just jittery. He’s really here. Really going to do it. He’s never even had a proper kiss before, and now he’s going to have a secret rendezvous in the groundskeeper’s hut with a man maybe twice his age and so very handsome and experienced that Dennis could just melt into a little puddle. 

He sucks in a breath, and he knocks on the wood. It’s hard and cold and unforgiving against his skin. 

There’s a bit of rustling on the other side. The light through the windows is a dull, warm fire-lit thing. He _wants to be inside_ —it looks so warm in there. 

The door opens, and Dennis is looking up at a handsome face full of freckles. Mr. Charlie Weasley says with a charming smile, “Didn’t really expect you to come.”

“Of course I did!” Dennis squeaks, sounding too small for his liking. He blushes at his own over-eagerness and stands there, hands twitching at his side. Professor Weasley grins harder, and there’s nothing educational about the way his eyes rake up and down Dennis’ body. Dennis fidgets under the look, wishing he weren’t so thickly dressed.

“You’re sure?”

Dennis nods.

Professor Weasley tilts his head. “Because you have to be for us to go through with this. There won’t be any going back—it’ll have to be our secret. You’re very young and innocent; you have to really think if you want me to be the person to take that away from you.” Dennis only blushes harder; does Professor Weasley know he’s a virgin? He’s probably one of the last left in seventh year. He half expects to be sent away. 

He opens his mouths and mumbles, “I really, really like you.” Which sounds stupid. But it might sound stupider to explain the butterflies he gets in his stomach and the way he pines to be in Care of Magical Creatures all day. He looks longingly at the staff table during feasts and thinks about Professor Weasley’s strong arms holding him at night. He’s more terrified of how much he wants this than whether he might not. 

Professor Weasley nods.

Professor Weasley ducks down suddenly and smashes their lips together, swallowing Dennis’ squeak of surprise. Professor Weasley’s lips are moist, soft, a little chapped, and being kissed makes Dennis want to squirm and close his eyes. When Professor Weasley pulls back, he’s smirking, and Dennis is dizzy. 

Professor Weasley grabs the end of his scarf and tugs him into the hut by it, and the door closes right behind them.


End file.
